Ad Infinitum

Each day presents a new problem.
Working at the PC, the boss walks through, and I get like a kid in the 5th form, waiting to be tapped on the shoulder to be told I’m naughty and I’ve done it wrong!
I keep forgetting I’m 750 years old and I’m not an idiot, but let me tell you everyday presents a new learning curve.
Still in my infancy.
Today we talked about abortions, many of you phoned in even though it was such a sensitive topic. Thank you.
Then we talked about Ed Balls and cookery in schools.
As usual, you listeners kept the topic afloat.
It was very good.

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This morning I made scrambled eggs, the Bill Grainger way, with loads of butter and cream. Hot bagels, smoked salmon and the freshest coffee you’ve ever tasted.
1 baby,1 mother, 1 father, 1 grandpa and 1 wicked step mother sat down and devoured the lot, in less than an hour.
We exchanged the last of our Christmas gifts and I set off for London for the forseeable future.
My car wouldn’t start.
Jonfan from next door jump started me, I cried, kissed Jim and off I went.

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It’s fifteen minutes past the midnight hour.
I’m waiting up to sing Happy Birthday to my girlfriend in New York.
Pammie is sitting down, with 15 friends, at 7pm in Brooklyn. I should have been at the table but this weekend was critical for both of us, me for the new job and she for reaching half a century.
I’ve sent her gifts.
When I was 50 I had nine women round my table in the cottage, each one from a special point in my life.
B and her friend Jessie waitressed whilst my friend Annie cooked. I asked for a 7 course meal all the colours of the rainbow. We had indigo potates if you please.
My women travelled from all parts of the Globe, Pammie flew in from New York with a huge black case on wheels.
After the first bottle of champagne I allowed everybody three complaints they could share with the rest of us.
Between the nine of us we covered, varicose veins, M.E., lower back pain, tennis elbow, writers block and piles.
We laughed so much that by the third bottle of bubbly my guest from Devon could hardly contain her incontinence.

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I spent all morning in bed making phone-calls on behalf of others.
Then after abluting, transcending, adorning and scent, I climbed into the Jackmobil and headed off to Prospect Pictures.
I haven’t properly been back there since April, but I’d been invited to lunch and hugs by one of my old team.
I was still bloated from yesterdays culinary exertions, and to be honest, just a smidge apprehensive about going back to my old stomping ground.
9 months has passed since the demise of GFL.
It takes 9 months to gestate a baby.
It takes 9 months for a body to decompose – give or take a preservative or two- so I figured it would take 9 months before I could face my dressing room, the corridor, the make-up room, the canteen, the studio, the camera ops, the producers, director, PA and all the other assorted grafters who I had grown to love.
April through December, exactly 9 months, time to face my demons.
I drove into the car park and Brian,the general do-gooder-handy-man, let me have my old parking space.
I parked as badly as ever and entered Capital Studios.
Gulp.

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Ok. Ok.
I have been up and down to London.
In and out of pain.
Under the thumb.
Round the houses.
Past my best.
And over the moon.

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